


Bring Me Out of My Mind

by acidicshortcake



Series: Kinktober 2k19 [7]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, First Time, Kinktober 2019, Multi, Praise Kink, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 06:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21011534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidicshortcake/pseuds/acidicshortcake
Summary: They have always had an uncanny, mind-boggling way of making something impossible into reality, haven’t they?Written for Kinktober 2k19 [ Day 7 - Praise Kink, Aphrodisiacs ]





	Bring Me Out of My Mind

They are overwhelming and bright, a mixture of sunlight and fire blinding Lyon as they always do. It’s difficult for him to think, much less speak, when they tear his foundations apart with such ease that he’d be easily convinced that he’d not had any ground to stand on in the first place. 

“Ephraim... Eirika...” Is all he can manage, voice breathless and more like a whimper than not. Had he the room to think much of it, Lyon would surely despite the sound, weak and fragile as it is to his ears. But they give him no quarter, allow him no time to fall into the spirals that he’s more familiar with than not, and he loses time to the feeling of their hands charting the heated plains of his pale skin. 

Eirika is gentle—she always is, always has been, but her touch burns in a way so pleasant that Lyon can’t help but shift into it, desperate. Her lips—soft, plush, too sweet for him—trail gently along his neck, the curve of his throat, the slim line of his jaw. Her hand is feather-light on his waist, a near jarring contrast to Ephraim’s rough hold on his hip. 

Where Eirika leaves Lyon floating high, lost in a sea of clouds, Ephraim is gravity itself, keeping him forced to the ground. Whenever Lyon dares to look at the blazing storm of a man, he finds his heart pushed into a precarious state, one that goes beyond the level of elevation that the twins have already pushed it to. It’s been too much, already, to even so much as fathom the concept of Ephraim being settled between Lyon’s legs, situated so that he’d very well be  _ kneeling _ ; it goes beyond that to  _ see _ Ephraim sink even lower, until heated breath is brushing against patches of skin that Lyon was sure, not even a day ago, would never be a sight privy to anyone in his lifetime. 

They have always had an uncanny, mind-boggling way of making something impossible into reality, haven’t they?

In a daze, Lyon recognizes the feel of Eirika’s breasts against his back, the heat of her skin fueling the flush of his own. She sighs near his ear, a dreamy sound of  _ something _ that leaves Lyon’s head spinning and his soul feeling a bit like he’s lost it in a winding cavern somewhere. 

“You’re breathtaking, Lyon,” she whispers. Lyon’s heart stops before can so much as remember to speak, much less how to form words to deflect such straightforward praise. Her hands move to his chest, fingertips drawing circles around his nipples. The sound he makes is embarrassing enough to justify a wish of death, Lyon thinks.

How Ephraim agrees with a hum against Lyon’s inner thigh does Lyon no favors. What it  _ does _ manage is a sharp-sounding hiss, one that could hardly be mistaken as anything but building pleasure in pure, chaotic wave. The sensation rolls up and through Lyon’s loins until it sits in his throat, making it hard to swallow down the nerves that had long since accumulated there. It makes it harder to breathe.

Eirika, always so kind Eirika, must have thought the sound to be something else. Concern seeps into her voice as it winds into his ear. “Is something wrong, Lyon?” 

So much. There’s too much wrong with what’s happening—with  _ him _ . He doesn’t deserve the way they touch him as if reverent, and yet he craves even more, helpless in stopping the intrusive thoughts of the way he can have them both. He’s not someone who  _ Ephraim _ should be kneeling for, not in any circumstance, and yet he’s powerless to stop Ephraim from doing so and drawing ever-so-close to Lyon’s shamefully stiff length in the process. Lyon thinks he might go crazy like this. He thinks he might be dreaming, and can’t help but wait for the part where the nightmare starts and he reveals the terrible thoughts that haunt him and they sneer at him for it. 

“Nothing,” he says, breathless. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He wonders what the twins are saying in the look they pass each other, one that almost makes him feel as though they’re staring right through him. Ephraim’s the one to speak this time, though Eirika’s the one that shifts from holding him. Lyon immediately misses her touch, and his heart starts to sink.

“Why are you so nervous?” Ephraim asks, straightforward and cutting right through Lyon’s thoughts, until the Grado prince is staring at him, wide-eyed. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. What, do you think you have something to hide?”

There are many things, Lyon thinks wryly, but perhaps saying that being stripped bare between them, with his body on full display for their perusing and his hardness much too close to Ephraim’s mouth, isn’t the answer Ephraim’s expecting to hear.

“It’s not quite that. It’s...” 

Which is worse: admitting his weakness to them both and risking destroying whatever image of him they’ve created in their minds, or admitting that he’s simply intimidated by how fluid they seem to be, as if they’ve done this with someone before?

A sweet scent catches his nostrils. Lyon turns slightly, just in time to watch as Eirika sets down a burning incense on the desk. It’s unfamiliar; he wonders if it’s from Renais. 

“Don’t worry, Lyon. So long as you’re willing, we’ll take care of you.” 

Something about her words and the way they reach him like a purr stirs his trembling insides with both despair and longing. His breath catches in his throat as she returns to the bed, stopping right against the edge. 

“Are you still willing, Lyon?” she asks, voice soft, giving him a way out even though they’ve come so far. Her kindness almost stings.

His eyes stare up into hers, a deep blue in the darkness of the room, and then turn to meet Ephraim’s. They hold the same fire, but Eirika’s is the warmth that pulls him back when he fears he might burn under Ephraim’s. 

“I am,” he manages, quietly. 

Eirika’s loving smile is what burns him instead. 

“I’m glad.”

— 

Time becomes a worry best left to a higher power. Not even his greatest, darkest fantasies could have come up with being sandwiched between the twins of Renais, sharing their heat and drowning in their collective adoration. From behind, Ephraim almost lazily rocks into him, pace measured out of thoughtfulness and something more; Lyon thinks the scent of vanilla wafting through the air might have something to do with that, for his own thoughts have felt cluttered and hazy for some time now, and he can barely recall when Ephraim pushed inside save for the fact that it felt  _ good _ . He remembers Eirika’s fingers inside him, first, easing him open and purring praises into his ear until he felt more liquid than human. She doesn’t stop with those, either, filling in the near-silence in a way that he and Ephraim seem incapable of.

Lyon’s lips are on Eirika’s chest and his hand is between her thighs, stroking and probing, and she feeds the spark that skitters through his veins with molten moans and words that drizzle off her tongue like a forbidden kind of honey. 

“So good, Lyon...” 

“Please don’t stop.” 

“I’m so close, Lyon, please...” 

Lyon thinks he might be drunk for how Eirika’s sound curls around him; as if Ephraim’s squeezing grip on Lyon’s hip and the feel of Ephraim stretching him out wasn’t intoxicating enough. Lyon moans, almost dazedly, as Eirika’s thighs close around his hand and she shudders, lips parted and head tilted back, her body creating a lovely arch as she comes unraveled at his fingertips. He did this. Eirika, sweet, graceful, beautiful Eirika is disheveled and panting beneath him, clinging to him, breathing his name in a lovely song that he’d think himself undeserving of if he were thinking straight at all. In a moment of bold inebriation, he cups her cheek, stares into her dark and hazy eyes before barely bringing their lips together.

Before he can lose himself in it, Ephraim’s pace picks up, and Lyon’s half-startled whine is muffled by Eirika’s tongue. 

Ephraim’s been holding back; knowing that would often twist some awful feeling in Lyon’s gut, shame and hatred mixing in equal parts to leave his insides rather tar-like, but even when the thought crosses his mind, Lyon can’t feel the energy encouraging it. Instead, all his mind can focus on is how  _ hot _ Ephraim is inside him, how Eirika keeps sending even more heat down to Lyon’s already hard length—how Lyon is trapped between them so willingly, to the point that he hardly feels ashamed that he falls forward with a cry at a particularly rough thrust from Ephraim, falling onto Eirika’s chest in the process. She holds him close like he’s something precious and sacred, even when he’s reduced to a mess of whimpers and moans at Ephraim’s hands. 

“That’s it, Lyon,” Eirika coos. “You’re doing so well. Just enjoy this...”

Her fingers run through his hair as Ephraim’s press bruises into his hips. Ephraim’s not too rough and yet still far too much; the most Lyon hears from him is the way his breath has picked up, and the occasional pleasured groan. Lyon spreads his legs apart further in an attempt to stabilize himself and keep his weight from simply falling onto Eirika and in turn, Ephraim adjusts in an angle that sends something white and hot and overwhelming through Lyon’s vision. He hardly recognizes his own voice when he cries out at the sensation, helpless to Ephraim’s assault and yet far too happy to be so.

For the first time, Ephraim makes a sound louder than a whisper as he grinds into Lyon, right in the same way that shoots weakness through Lyon’s limbs and nearly stops his heart. 

“Gods, Lyon, you feel so good.” 

Ephraim snaps his hips forward and Lyon comes shaking, spilling himself onto Eirika’s skin. 

As Lyon pants, head bowed and arms trembling, Ephraim keeps going, only slowing down for the briefest of moments. It’s so much, it’s too much—there are almost tears in his eyes and he clings to Eirika as she holds him, drawing her fingers down his spine. Ephraim’s grip feels like it might break Lyon instead of simply bruise. 

When Ephraim comes, he’s doubled over Lyon, panting against Lyon’s shoulder. The heat doesn’t quite dissipate when Ephraim slowly pulls away, but Lyon shivers anyway, only finally allowing himself to fall next to Eirika once Ephraim gives him the space to breathe; though even when Lyon tries, it doesn’t come all that easily. Again, he finds himself pressed between them, but in a different way this time. Eirika on one side and Ephraim on the other, their limbs a tangled mess and splayed all around. Eirika nuzzles against Lyon’s neck, mumbling quiet things that Lyon can barely catch onto—a lament of the incense’s capabilities, the strength of which she apparently underestimated; his name wrapped in yet another praise—as Ephraim seems to be falling asleep despite being propped up on one arm. With the way his gaze nearly bores into Lyon, he might’ve meant to say something. Lyon isn’t too sure. But in the comfortable haze that claims them all, Lyon finds it easy to simply sink, falling into a momentary bliss that he dares not take for granted.

They’re overwhelming for certain, but perhaps being overwhelmed isn’t so bad if it leaves his mind free of anything else.


End file.
